The Bet
by Chipolata
Summary: Can Bulma make anybody look good? Bulma thinks so, so she and ChiChi have made a bet: Bulma will pretty up a guy of ChiChi's choice for a magazine competition. Bulma's a-shooin to win, until she finds out just who she's helping...
1. Chapter One: The Salon

Rows of chairs in front of benches and mirrored walls. Trays of combs, clips, scissors, shavers, brushes and hairdryer ends. Bowls of colours, with foil. Stacks of old, out-of-date fashion and gossip magazines. Girls in aprons with over-coloured hair piled high. Men in tight pants and clippers in hand. The hair salon. And through the door, the manicures, pedicures, and tanning salon. The full beauty works.

"I guess we'll meet up with you girls in a little while." Goku said nervously to his wife.

"Come by in a couple of hours." Bulma instructed.

"Whatever." Vegeta snapped, clasping his hands over his hair at the sight of the hairdressers with a pair of scissors.

"Have fun!" Goku forced a grin, and took off, Vegeta quickly catching up.

ChiChi sighed and shook her head. Bulma couldn't help but laugh.

"Ah! Miss Bulma. So good so see you again!" A young man wearing black gushed forth and led the two to their chairs.

"You too, Romano." Bulma giggled. "You do know I'm married?"

"I keep forgetting." Romano smiled. "What kind of look are we going for this time?"

"I think a few curls would go a long way," ChiChi suggested.

"Oh! So darling!" Romano agreed. "Don't worry, Ms ChiChi, Remani will be along in a minute."

"Thanks." ChiChi picked up a magazine.

"I'll give it a little snip at the bottom to get rid of split ends, and then I'll give it a curl, shall I?" Romano pulled a stool up and draped the large cloth over Bulma.

"Sounds great!" Bulma giggled.

Soon, Remani joined ChiChi and began snipping. Although ChiChi only wanted a cut, the stress from living with the Sons had brought on grey hair, and she needed a colour.

After much fuss and chatter from the two stylists, the girls were left to their own devices.

ChiChi sighed, flipping through one of the beauty magazines. "It's so hard, isn't it?"

"What?" Bulma asked, looking up from her own mag.

"Keeping up with fashion. Making and keeping yourself pretty." She set down her copy of Cleo. "I mean, you and me, we're pretty lucky, since all we need is a cut now and then. Natural beauty. But all this pressure..."

Bulma frowned. This was a pretty deep thought.

"Oh, I don't know." Bulma mused. "Everybody has that natural potential to be really beautiful. Guys included. Some people just lose confidence; don't keep themself fit, or even just get the wrong haircut or wardrobe."

The pair sat and thought for a moment.

"Some people are just plain ugly though," ChiChi snipped, grinning.

"Oh really?" Bulma challenged. "I don't think so. I bet I could make anyone look good. With help from a salon and elite shopping mall of course."

"Anyone?" ChiChi asked slyly.

"Yeah." Bulma smirked, rather like Vegeta.

"Let's prove that, shall we?" ChiChi suggested.

"Alright then! You name the person, just name them!"

"Okay then. And you have to get them prettied up with the least amount of changes, to prove your 'natural potential' theory."

"Fine!" Bulma agreed. "How shall we test my work?"

ChiChi grinned evilly, and showed Bulma her Cleo.

BACHELOR OF THE YEAR COMPETITION

"I guess you're choosing a guy, then?" Bulma asked.

"Sort of." ChiChi chuckled.

"Sort of?" Bulma repeated. "Who..?"

ChiChi only chuckled as Remani came back over and began taking off the foils. Bulma could only stare in confusion.

"Sort of?"

ChiChi turned back as she was lead over to the basins. "Think green."

Bulma paled.


	2. Chapter Two: Atchoo!

**[Chapter Two]**

Trunks yawned as he pulled on his shirt. He raked his fingers through his hair as a form of combing it, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and squinted at himself in the mirror.

The harsh late-morning light beamed in through his window. Trunks knew that in the past such a late waking would have been punished by his father. Trunks was only up so late because of his studies; exams were coming and he was constantly up until midnight with his head in the books.

Dragging his feet, Trunks walked out into the corridor and headed for the kitchen for brunch. He was stopped in his tracks by a large mess of photos scattered all over the floor.

"Odd," Trunks commented, then picked up the photos and placed them back in the drawer they came from.

He thumped down the stairs, and was met yet again with a carpet of dropped photos. He frowned, and picked them up.

"I wonder who's been going through our stuff?" He asked aloud.

He stepped into the kitchen, and found Vegeta picking up another pile of family photos.

"Were we burgled or something?" Trunks asked.

"No." Vegeta placed the photos in a box and put them back in their cupboard.

"Then why have our photos been thrown about the floor?" Trunks asked, confused.

"It's your mother." Vegeta shook his head. "One of her schemes."

"Ah." Trunks nodded, and headed for the panty.

"Ooo, where is it? Where is it? Whereisitwhereisitwhereisit?" Bulma seethed, throwing albums and photos and frames about.

"I know we have one, ChiChi gave it to me! Where did I put it?"

"What are you looking for, hon?" Vegeta asked, sneaking up behind her.

"Vegeta?" Bulma turned around, before going back to searching. "That picture, the one taken at our party... where did I put it?"

"We took lots of photos at the party."

"That one, the one of Gohan and Piccolo. You know, sitting at the pond together? Argh!" Bulma pulled at her hair in frustration.

"The Namek and Kakarot's brat? Isn't that in the sun room?" Vegeta asked.

Bulma grinned. "Thanks Vegeta!"

With that, she grabbed Vegeta, kissed him, and tore off to the sun room.

Vegeta sighed, and began picking up the mess.

Bulma sat in the darkness of her private lab, face lit only but the glow of her computer's monitor. The only sound was the soft whirr of the computer's cooling fans and the chuk-chuk-chuk of her flatbed scanner. Slowly, the image of Piccolo and Gohan appeared on the screen.

"Excellent," she hissed, eyes greedy like a hungry Saiyan.

"What are you doing?" Vegeta demanded, clicking on the lights.

"The light!" Bulma screeched, covering her eyes.

Vegeta marched over and pulled her hands away from her face. "Woman!"

"Vegeta! What did I tell you about interrupting me in the middle of a scheme?" Bulma scolded.

"What are you up to this time?" Vegeta let her hands go.

Bulma hmphed, and turned back to the computer. "If you must know, ChiChi and I made a bet."

"A bet?" Vegeta asked.

"Yes. I get to test my skills as a beautician on Piccolo. If I do well, I win."

"The Namek?" Vegeta grinned. "He's uglier than Recoombe's butt."

"Don't remind me." Bulma glared.

"Atchoo!" Piccolo sneezed. 'Must be getting a cold.'

"So why do you need to scan that particular picture of him?" Vegeta asked. "We've got plenty of others."

"But he's always in the background, and it's only a part of him. This one, you can see most of him." Bulma pointed out. "If I can figure out what needs doing now, I'll be less likely to make a mess of it."

Bulma continued clicking, and typing. A green line surrounded the picture of Piccolo, and cleared the rest of the image.

"Good luck." Vegeta left the lab.

"I'm going to need it." Bulma sighed.


	3. Chapter Three: Makeover 3000

**[Chapter Three]**

"Hair... skin colour... height... eye ridge... gah!" Bulma pounded the desk in frustration. "It's too much! And it still looks nasty."

Bulma frowned at her computer. She currently had running a program of her mother's design, called the Makeover 03. It was designed to take a simple photo, analyse a person's features, and allow the user to make cosmetic changes.

Bulma clicked 'undo', and Piccolo returned to his original appearance.

Magazines scattered Bulma's desk, open to pages full of the cutest guys. Some pages had been ripped out and stuck up with blu-tak, some had writing all over them and others were circled.

Bulma glared at the magazines, then at the image on the monitor. Back to the magazines, then the monitor. Magazines, monitor. Magazines, monitor. Magazines, monitor.

A loud screech was heard through Capsule Corp.

"I! Can't! Do! This!" Bulma wailed, bashing her keyboard. "There is no way!"

"Coffee?" Mrs Briefs asked from behind Bulma.

"Eeeak!" Bulma yelped, leaping from her seat.

"Maybe not." Briefs placed the tray on a stack of Cosmos.

"Mom? Don't scare me like that!" Bulma slumped into her seat.

Briefs smiled warmly, then turned to the computer.

"Oh! You're using Makeover!" she giggled.

"It's for a bet, Mom." Bulma sighed. "I should just quit. It's impossible to make that man good-looking."

"What have you tried?" Briefs asked.

"Well..." Bulma clicked 'redo'. "Everything."

Briefs made a face.

"I know." Bulma lay back in her chair.

"You know, Bulma, I've always taught you that everyone is beautiful if they believe it." Briefs said thoughtfully. "Beauty is within. If you can find it, you can bring it out."

"Inner beauty? Piccolo? The man's an ass."

"Atchoo!"

"Does everyone think that?" Briefs asked.

"Pretty much." Bulma yawned.

"_Everyone?"_

Briefs smiled knowingly, and softly walked out of the lab.

Bulma felt like a light had been turned on in her head. Slow realization came, and pushed her into action. She tapped the keyboard and picked up her phone.

"Now, what was Gohan's new number?"

"Why'dya want to know about Piccolo?" Gohan asked.

"Oh, you know." Bulma waved off the question from down the line. "So?"

Gohan held the phone to his ear with his shoulder, typing away on his work computer. The poor young man had been shoved into a suit and tie by a baby-weary Videl. Dark circles under his eyes revealed just how young baby Pan really was.

"It's a tough question to answer." Gohan mused. "I like Piccolo for a lot of reasons."

"Such as?" Bulma pressed.

Gohan paused his typing.

"Well... I guess the most obvious is he's saved my life many times." Gohan paused again. "He looked after me, when we were training. Taught me stuff, like strength, bravery. And... I guess I still consider him my best friend because of how he makes me feel when I'm around him. Safe, y'know? And like I can be me. He listens, and always gives me an honest opinion."

"You admire him?" Bulma prompted.

"I might be better than him at fighting now, but yeah. I guess I do. He just does what he has to do, forget what he needs; it's one for everyone else." Gohan smiled. "Besides, he's a good cook."

Bulma laughed. "Serious?"

"No." Gohan chuckled. "He's hopeless in that area."

Gohan started typing again.

"Is that all you need?" he asked.

"Yeah, thanks Gohan. See you again sometime. Bring Pan."

"Sure." Gohan rubbed his eyes. "Bye."

Bulma put down the phone, and looked at the picture that had been taken at the picnic. Now that she thought of it, he did look quite relaxed. Sitting on a rock, one knee to his chest, smiling at Gohan. Oh, it wasn't a big smile; Bulma hadn't noticed it before.

Bulma looked at her computer screen. Piccolo's image was enlarged, soft eyes looking at an invisible boy, sitting by a pond that couldn't be seen.

Soft eyes?

"Bingo." Bulma smirked, and began clicking.


	4. Chapter Four: Marching Towards Doom

**[Chapter Four]**

"How's it going?" Vegeta poked his head through the lab door.

"Great." Bulma made one last change on the computer, and swung her chair around. "Are you going to bed soon?"

"Not for a long time, I just came from there." Vegeta smiled. "You've been up all night."

"What?" Bulma checked her watch.

Vegeta chuckled.

"Uh, Vegeta, could I get you to do something?" Bulma asked, reaching for the coffee pot. "Could you go get Piccolo for me? Please?"

"Sure, I--" Vegeta stiffened, and stood back furiously. "Fine, Woman! Don't make me breakfast!"

Bulma sighed, and turned back to her computer.

"Gee, Vegeta. Something up?" Goku asked, padding up the hallway.

"No! Let's just train." Vegeta stormed down to the gravity room.

Goku looked in at Bulma, sitting at the computer.

"Same old Vegeta, eh?" He asked with a smile.

"Yeah," Bulma agreed, turning around.

"KAKAROT!" Vegeta yelled.

"Coming!" Goku called, gave Bulma a small wave, and wandered down the hall.

"I guess Vegeta won't be fetching Piccolo for me." Bulma sighed.

"Are you okay?" Dende asked.

"I sense a great disturbance is about to happen." Piccolo frowned at the horizon. "Something bad is coming. Really soon."

"Really?" Dende looked up at Piccolo.

RING RING!!

RING RING!!

"That's the phone! I'll get it," Dende volunteered.

"Doom is upon us." Piccolo sighed.

"Hello?" Dende's voice filtered through from the next room. "Oh, Bulma! Hi. Hmm? Piccolo? Sure, he's here. Capsule Corp? Right away? Okay, I'll tell him. Bye Bulma."

"I'm doomed, aren't I?" Piccolo asked Dende as he walked back in.

"Yup. Bulma wants you at Capsule Corp ASAP." Dende grinned. "When you die, can I have your stuff?"

"Split it with Gohan." Piccolo materialized his cape and turban and headed for the door.

Dende hummed the death march.

Piccolo walked in the front doors of Capsule Corp and slowly walked towards the back of the complex where the science labs were concealed. Pigging out in the kitchen was Goku, who looked up when his Namekian friend walked in.

"Piccolo?" He asked around a mouthful of Doritos. "What are you doing here? Gonna train with me and Vegeta?"

"I have been summoned by Bulma." Piccolo said gravely.

Goku dropped his food, shock emerging on his face.

"Aw man, sorry dude." Goku swallowed, then saluted Piccolo. "You leave us with honour and pride. Go forth, and fight well."

Piccolo nodded, and continued down the hall.

Bulma was waiting for him when he reached the labs.

"Piccolo!" She greeted him cheerfully. "Good to see you. Come right in, come on!"

Piccolo fought a strong urge to flee.

"He's as good as dead, isn't he?" Goku asked Vegeta, staring down the corridor.

"If the woman's computer screen last night was any indication, he's going to end up worse than dead." Vegeta chewed on a sandwich.

There was a long, silent pause.

"Rematch?" Vegeta challenged.

"You're going down, little man!" Goku raced to the living room.

"You should give up, Kakarot! No-one can beat me at Pong!"


	5. Chapter Five: Ugly? Me?

**[Chapter Five]**

"So this is how it goes." Bulma handed Piccolo a cup of tea. "I made a bet with ChiChi. I told her that I am the world's greatest beautician."

Piccolo raised an eye ridge.

"Okay, not those exact words. I said everyone has a natural beauty and I could bring it out." Bulma sipped her own cup, and continued.

"ChiChi challenged this, and we made this bet: I doll up the person of ChiChi's choice and they get entered in this competition. If they win, or come close to it, I win."

"And ChiChi chose me?" Piccolo asked.

"Yep."

Piccolo nodded, understanding, and drank some tea.

"Well, being the smart and incredibly beautiful girl I am, I got out Mom's makeover program and scanned your picture into the computer." Bulma turned the computer monitor around. "A little playing around, this is the result."

Piccolo stared at the screen in disbelief. Bulma actually thought he'd go through with _that? It was so... not him!_

He sighed, and set down his tea.

"Can I ask you something?" Piccolo frowned at Bulma. "Do you people really think I'm ugly?"

"Well..." Bulma's face scrunched up. "It's just a joke thing, ya know? We don't really mean it..."

Piccolo stood up. "I refuse to go along with this."

"What? But Piccolo--"

"No." Piccolo glared, and turned to leave.

Bulma sighed. "I guess ChiChi was right."

"Hmm?" Piccolo cast a look back. "About what?"

"Oh, you." Bulma shook her head. "You wouldn't be concerned about it. Go on, you're not interested."

Piccolo turned. "Tell me!"

"No, no." Bulma looked up. "Alright, but this was ChiChi, not me. When I asked her, 'Why Piccolo?' she said you were as ugly as a donkey's butt and had the personality of a cow pat."

Again, Piccolo could only stare in disbelief.

"You're joking." he said finally.

"Okay, I am." Bulma giggled. "But she did say you are 'a pole-up-the-ass bastard.' She doesn't have a very high opinion in your personality, I'm afraid."

Piccolo just stared.

"Anyway, I'll only be making one little change, plus wardrobe. Totally reversible." Bulma looked up at Piccolo with pleading eyes. "Please? Just try it?"

Piccolo blinked, staring.

Looked back at the screen. The Namek sitting, looking at nothing. Well, not quite Namek. In fact, it didn't seem that bad. Could be fun.

Besides, totally reversible.

When was the last time he'd done anything spontaneously?

Yeah, it could be fun having hair.

"Alright." Piccolo resigned. "I'll do it."

Bulma grinned.

_Dude, two chapters in one night! I am sooo good. Anyway, this is here to provide you with information regarding sketches of Piccolo with hair. There's a URL in my profile to my DBZ humour page. My fanart is on page 4._


	6. Chapter Six: Mr Squiggles

**[Chapter Six]**

"So how do you plan on giving me hair?" Piccolo asked as he was lead down one of the many corridors of Capsule Corp. "I mean, it's not like you could just get out a bottle of Rogaine. Nameks don't have the hair follicles in the first place."

"Aha, but I know that!" Bulma waggled her finger. "And that's why we're heading down to Lab 239."

Piccolo frowned, but continued to follow.

"Mrs Briefs." A grey haired scientist nodded at his boss as she passed.

"Hi Jerry." Bulma greeted with a wave.

Jerry just stared at Piccolo. The green man wasn't such a rare sight at Capsule Corp. Besides, the last guy who made any kind of comment ended up with a broken arm, three broken ribs, broken leg and a pink slip in with his paycheque.

Eventually, Bulma stopped outside the large steel door labelled "LAB 239" in large red lettering. Three young scientists wearing white coats were standing outside holding mugs of coffee.

"Hey Mrs Briefs." One of them smiled. "Lab's empty, just like you asked. You mind if I ask why?"

"It's a secret." Bulma winked, and then jerked her thumb in Piccolo's direction.

"Oh!" Another chuckled. "I see."

Bulma pushed open the door, and Piccolo followed her in. The first thing that struck Piccolo about this room was that it was pink. Pink walls, pink carpet, pink equipment.

"This is our Cosmetics lab." Bulma explained, and sat down at a computer. "My Mom made it, and she was the director of this division for a while."

"Why is that rat in here?" Piccolo asked, anger slightly tinting his voice.

"I don't know." Bulma frowned, and turned to the door. "Who's rat?"

One of the scientists poked her head in the door. "Oh! Mr Squiggles! I completely forgot. Sorry, Mrs Briefs. He's my pet, I brought him in."

"Okay then, Josie." Bulma handed over the cage.

"Thanks." Josie disappeared.

Bulma spotted Piccolo's disapproving look.

"No animal testing in Capsule Corp." She assured him. "Unless, of course, the product has been designed for animal use and it's been completely passed as safe by about a billion vets. Like a new flea powder."

Bulma pressed a key combination on her computer and a chair, much like a dentist's chair, appeared from the floor. A pink one.

"Sit." She instructed.

Piccolo sat, very reluctantly.

"Hat off." Bulma said, and began typing furiously at her computer.

Piccolo removed his turban. His nerves were demanding a quick departure again.

"Do those antennae of yours have any vital use?" Bulma asked, not taking her eyes off the screen.

"Telekinetic, yes." Piccolo wiggled his antennae.

"They've gotta go." Bulma hummed, clicked the mouse and rolled over on her chair.

"This isn't going to hurt." She smiled. "Of course, you're not going to get hair straight away, it's going to grow. I'm going to bandage it up afterwards, so nothing nasty happens while the effects take hold. When you're actually getting fuzzy up top you can take it off, okay?"

Piccolo nodded.

"Okay then!" Bulma grabbed the controls for the chair.

The chair lay back, and Piccolo's head was covered by a large device like the perm dryers at the hairdressers.

"Just relax."

That was the last thing Piccolo felt like doing.

_I'm taking full advantage of my creative streak!! Anyway, my brother keeps calling Piccolo's antennae 'antlers'. He even drew Piccolo with antlers. That picture is now known as Piccolo the Red Nosed Namek._


	7. Chapter Seven: AntiCupids Sequel

_That's it. After much musing, pondering, and consideration, 'The Bet' is now officially the sequel to Anti-Cupids, and has now adopted the genre of Romance. _

**The Bet**

**[Chapter Seven]**

One thing nobody could deny about Bulma's mother: she is a person concerned with comfort. She tends to guests with a big smile and open heart. She always searches for the best of things, and then makes sure it comes home with her.

Dear sweet Mrs Briefs had not backed away when it came to the design of her Cosmetic Refinement Chair. The seat was softer than a kitten's fur, it was shaped to fit a person perfectly, and during your treatment, it plays soothing, relaxing music.

For Piccolo, it was hell. His senses had returned to him a second too late, and he was now being forced to endure something he knew was going to end with major embarrassment. Worst case scenario, he could be forced into his room for the rest of his life, facing total humiliation upon his exit. Mr Teddy would become his best friend.

Piccolo shuddered.

He then realised something which made him freeze all over. He could no longer feel his antennae! The contraption he was now beginning to call 'the Doom Machine' had cut them off, removed them, gone!

His scalp began to feel tingly. Like millions of little pin-pricks travelling from where his antennae used to be, back to the base of his skull and partway down his neck. It felt like there were bugs in his skin, crawling around, squirming, moving.

Then, the feeling went away, the music faded to a close, the headpiece moved back, and Piccolo was greeted by a grinning Bulma.

"Hi!" she said cheerfully. "Shall we go try on your new outfits?"

Piccolo gave a look that if given three more seconds, could fry Bulma's head right off her shoulders.

Unfortunately, Bulma didn't give Piccolo the time needed to gather ki for a laser-eye blast. Instead, she skipped to the door.

"Coming?" She asked.

"No!" Piccolo growled. "I'm going home!"

"Ooh, somebody's got cold feet all of a sudden!" Bulma chuckled. "That's okay; you can see your gear when you've got the fuzz up top."

Piccolo touched a hand to his head, and discovered cloth.

"Yeah, the machine does that automatically."

Piccolo got up and marched for the door.

"Come back in three days, no matter the outcome, I want to see how it's going." Bulma instructed.

Piccolo grunted a non-committal response, and left.

"Didn't do much," Josie commented.

"Didn't need to." Bulma pulled a printed picture from her pocket.

Josie looked at it, and shook her head. "No wonder they call you a genius!"

Piccolo dragged his feet past Goku and Vegeta, before bumping into the automatic doors and shakily lifting off into the sky.

"Poor guy." Goku commented. "He looked like he was about to burst into tears."

"Kakarot!" Vegeta snapped. "Do you want to get your stupid frog across the road or not?"

"Sorry Vegeta!" Goku pressed the play button.

_Kenshinbaby__, just so you're no longer confused about Piccolo's sneezing, check my profile for Anime Law #23._


	8. Chapter Eight: Life Without Antennae

**[Chapter Eight]**

"You're alive," Dende joked as Piccolo flew over the edge of the tower.

"Barely." Piccolo smiled half-heartedly.

"Popo's bringing out some tea, you gonna join us?" Dende offered.

"I guess." Piccolo shrugged.

Piccolo took one step, slipped, and fell flat on his face.

"Ouch." He moaned into the tiles.

"Did you just trip over?" Dende asked, stunned.

Piccolo pushed himself up to his knees, and rubbed his sore nose.

"How did that happen?" He asked himself, getting to his feet.

"Oh! Piccolo, you're back!" Mr Popo commented, walking across the tiled courtyard with a tea tray and tea set. "I see Bulma didn't mess you up too badly."

Piccolo frowned. "Not yet, anyway."

"Here, hold this while I get another chair." Popo handed Piccolo the tray and walked back to the palace entrance.

"So, what did Bulma do?" Dende asked, walking over to the white garden table and chairs that Popo had set up and sitting down.

"She has this stupid bet with ChiChi." Piccolo grumbled. "I--"

"Watch it!" Dende snapped, pointing to the tea tray.

"Wha?"

Piccolo pulled the tray back to level, just in time to stop the china tea set from dropping to the ground. Unfortunately, the cups flipped up from their saucers, knocked the teapot, and the whole thing came crashing to the ground.

Piccolo and Dende stared at the mess, then at each other.

"What just happened?" Dende asked.

"Oh dear." Mr Popo said softly, staring at the mess of broken china.

"Its okay, Mr Popo." Dende asked. "Piccolo can clean this up. We have another tea set, don't we?"

"Yes, of course. I'll make another pot." Mr Popo offered, and walked with Dende inside.

Piccolo glared at Dende for ordering him around, and vaporised the pieces of broken ceramic and puddle of tea. He followed them inside, whacking his head on the doorway, and sat at the kitchen table, frowning.

'What _did Bulma do?' Piccolo thought, rubbing his sore head._

Anger started to build again when he realised why two lumps were missing under his bandages.

"Here you go," Popo handed Piccolo a cup of tea.

"Thanks," Piccolo grumbled, taking the cup.

He then promptly dropped it.

The three of them just stared as the brown liquid spread across the table and dripped to the linoleum floor.

"Uh, Piccolo," Dende asked after a long time. "Bulma didn't happen to remove your antennae, did she?"

"Yes, why?"

"Because that would explain why you've been dropping, tripping over and bashing into things." Dende nodded, like a wise man who knew. "A Namek's antennae co-ordinate actions and thoughts."

"What?" Piccolo snapped.

"I'm not sure how, but they do." Dende looked up at Piccolo and grinned. "You're going to be totally unco until you get them back!"

Piccolo made a fist and growled, punching the table. Or at least, swung and missed.

"See?" Dende pointed. "You're a klutz!"

Piccolo sighed. "I need to work some stuff out."

Piccolo got up and walked to the door, opening it in his face.

"Damn it!" He cursed, and walked out.

When they were sure Piccolo was out of hearing distance, Dende and Popo burst into laughter, not to finish for a very long time.

Two days and many dinted walls later, Piccolo got out of his cracked shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. Treading carefully, he walked over to his vanity and grabbed his toothbrush. Brushing had proven difficult lately, so he was forced to put all his concentration into squeezing the toothpaste onto the brush.

But something caught his eye in the mirror as he lifted the brush to his mouth. Something on top of his head, something blue.

He reached up and touched it. It was fuzzy. Short and blue and fuzzy...

So, his hair was finally growing. Quickly too, he noted, as it appeared to have grown an inch overnight.

It was odd, running a hand over fuzz where once not even follicles resided. It seemed against his nature to have hair; green demonic features would contrast so against blue locks. And what cut would suit him? Certainly not Trunks's bowl cut!

Piccolo sighed, finding himself yet again questioning Bulma's decision. It had happened a lot, and usually ended up with him running into something by lack of concentration.

Piccolo picked up his toothbrush again.

Dende and Popo burst into a fit of giggles again as a loud cry of pain and annoyance rang through the tower again.

"Whaddaya reckon?" Dende asked. "Toothpaste miss the brush? Or did he stab himself in the eye again?"


	9. Chapter Nine: Bruce

**Chapter Nine**

Bulma sat at the kitchen table, coffee mug in hand. She sighed as she stared dully at the plain wall, mind elsewhere. A fly landed on her nose without invoking the slightest flicker. This was someone deep in thought.

It was the third day, and Piccolo hadn't turned up yet. Try as Bulma may, she couldn't hold back the feeling of worry that was creeping up on her. After all, it was a completely untested procedure. What if something had gone wrong? It would be all her fault.

Bulma was so deeply inside her own mind she didn't notice the white gloved hand waving in front of her eyes.

"Hello? Woman!" Vegeta yelled, clicking his fingers in her face.

"I dunno, Vegeta. Maybe something's wrong?" Goku suggested.

Vegeta stood back, frowning.

The doorbell rang.

"Come in!" Goku replied automatically.

"This isn't your house, Kakarot!" Vegeta snapped.

"Oh yeah. Oops!" Goku scratched the back of his head in the Son way.

"Is Bulma here?" Piccolo poked his head around the corner, speaking quietly.

Vegeta and Goku jaw-dropped.

In place of his turban, Piccolo now had pale cobalt blue, straight, shoulder-length hair. It resembled Future Trunks's hair, once he'd exited the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, and flopped softly over his face.

"You're here!" Bulma squealed, jumping from the table and hooking her arm around Piccolo's. "Come on, there's still so much to do!"

She dragged the reluctant Namek down the hallway, with the shocked gaze of Goku and Vegeta unwavering.

"What is going on?" Goku asked, after a full minute of staring at the empty hall.

"He can't do that, can he?" Vegeta asked.

"What, grow hair?" Goku frowned. "I don't think so."

"No, I mean, walk of with my wife's arm like that!" Vegeta's voice was tinted with rage.

"Actually, I think Bulma walked off with Piccolo's arm." Goku scratched his head.

Vegeta growled. "I'm going to keep an eye on this."

Goku looked at him with uncertainty. When Vegeta said he was going to keep his eye on something, he had generally already made up his mind to destroy it, piece by piece.

* * *

Piccolo was befuddled. He had never seen so many items of clothing in so many cuts, styles, or colours in one place at once. He knew this wasn't much, after all, it's not like he was ever allowed inside a clothing store before, and the only wardrobe he'd ever looked in was Goku's when ChiChi was finding something for his driving lesson. But he knew that the number of racks and racks of pants, shorts, shirts, jumpers, vests, hats and shoes that Bulma had somehow summoned to the lab was ridiculous.

"See anything that catches your eye?" Bulma asked.

Piccolo gave her a lost look.

"Now, I know you're not a man of fashion, so I asked a local designer to come in and lend a hand. He's had quite a bit of success around these parts." Bulma ushered Piccolo past a few racks until they found a young, blonde man in skin-tight clothing poking about the underwear. "Piccolo, this is Bruce."

Bruce turned on his heels at the sound of his name. Piccolo had the instant impression of an overbearing old woman with a sticky nose.

"Bulma, darling! I'm so delighted you chose me to help you out on your little project." Bruce held out his arms and embraced her. "So, is it Vegeta again? Some other new man in your life?"

Bulma giggled. "Bruce, I'm married!"

"I see, helping out a friend." Bruce frowned slightly, slowly circled Piccolo and began thinking out loud.

"Unusual skin colour, yes, I'm sure we can make that work. Built up, do you work out? Of course, of course." He lifted up Piccolo's cape and began prodding. "Not bad, not bad. Tall, tall is good, but maybe a bit big for the racks..."

Bulma was biting her lip. Piccolo was twitching so badly it was surprising he hadn't blown something up.

"Something casual to start with?" Bruce suggested, and clapped his hands. "Let's find some denim!"

He disappeared into the racks. Piccolo sent Bulma a death-glare.

"Maybe I should have a word to him." She said sheepishly.

* * *

Once Bulma had laid out for Bruce the Piccolo no-go zones, Piccolo found that he could barely tolerate the young designer, who besides being a bit too outgoing and brash for Piccolo tastes began sliding in small comments about Piccolo's appearance. It was the compliments that irked Piccolo the most; he just wasn't used to it.

"Get used to it!" Bulma snapped playfully. "You're going to be getting a lot when I'm through with you!"

By the end of it, with all three very weary, Piccolo had ten pairs of pants, six long-sleeve shirts, three tees, three jumpers, and two pairs of shoes stuffed into a bag.

"Remember, you can mix-and-match those." Bruce said. "Just don't let me catch you mixing hot pink, lime green and lemon yellow, that's a big no-no. _Sooo_ twenty years ago."

Piccolo grinned uncertainly.

"Only one thing left to do now! Put it all to the test!" Bulma announced, and whipped out a small pile of paper and a pen. "All you have to do is fill this out and sign, and you're in the competition."

"Good luck!" Bruce squealed, and gave Piccolo a weak punch on the arm before waltzing off down the hall.

"Bye Bruce!" Bulma called after him. "He's not such a bad guy, is he?"

"Humph." Piccolo replied.


End file.
